I don’t know what Colin Livingston is selling, but I’ll definitely buy some. His slick works, all swooshes and logos, shiny as glass in brilliant red, bright yellow and lime green, are so different, so appealing. They’re just what I need, whatever they are.

He means his mysteries to be irresistible like that. He borrows their aura from commercial products that people buy in bulk as a matter of habit these days. He gets terribly close, even, to some trademark infringement with his pieces that grab their motifs from Coca-Cola or Mello Yello soda bottle labels.

Yes, this is pop art about pop (c’mon, that’s funny), but it’s sweeter than it first appears. Livingston gets at many (many) things in “The Art Bucket,” but mainly he is exploring just what it is that draws us inescapably to some products on store shelves. These are logical questions in an age when branding can have little to do with the product that’s for sale. Why are Coke labels red? Or, more interestingly in this exhibit, when the packaging is more alluring than the product.

Such excursions along the frontiers of art and commerce have marked his career of constructing phony, mass-produced wares, only this time he treks further. He gives us the works and provides each with a corresponding D.I.Y. kit, packaged in a plastic painter’s bucket, so we can make it without him. The distance between the exhibit’s showroom, Plus Gallery, and the nearest Home Depot reduces to a space even Google Maps couldn’t measure.

Could ordinary homeowners actually make their own fine art if they just had a little paint and the right tools? The answer is no, even though Livingston gives the allusion, covering his buckets with engaging, customized labels that look suspiciously like the beverage cups at Burger King.

The buckets are empty, there’s no real kit. Even knowing that, the energetic labels might get us to purchase one.

The paintings are genuine, however, and attractive on their own merits. Livingston makes them from simple house paint that he gets from home-improvement stores rather than art-supply shops. He brushes it on in a way that looks more like graphic design than a traditional art painting.

His “So Purpley” takes on a regal air with its symmetrical sunburst crown surrounding the logo and purple patterns in the background. “True Blue” has airy, ethereal shades of the color shaped into something like a mountainscape. “That’s A Good Orange” works the cheery hue for all it can offer and adds an icon in the shape of an orange fruit. They make you thirsty, but for something more lasting that Mountain Dew.

And once you’re hooked, you realize the paintings come in pairs; Each is coupled with a second painting in a lighter shade — red with pink, blue with baby blue, orange with peach. They’re “diet” versions of the fabricated soft drink. The works are diptychs, and there’s one set for every color in the rainbow.

Surely, it’s not new for artists to investigate the power and pleasures of modern products. There were Andy Warhol’s Brillo boxes in the 1960s, of course, and more interestingly Richard Hamilton’s landmark collages from the 1950s. This work owes them plenty.

But Livingston makes it for a more contemporary age and gets at something closer to now. His work reflects an era when every products gives us a dozen versions of itself and we have to choose among them: Coke, Coke Zero, Cherry Coke or Coca-Cola Light with Lime? Such conveniences make life a little more difficult to navigate.

Each of his works carry a secondary label that says “Livingston Paintings Pop,” as if all of the products are owned by one super corporation. It’s a reference to operations like Kraft, which makes everything from Kool-Aid to Cheez Whiz to Planters peanuts

We’re not just fools for a pretty package; we’re citizens of the food-industrial complex. Better to read the labels.

Of course, most of us don’t at the grocery store, and you don’t have to at this exhibit either. You can just wander the showroom and feel the appeal. But buyer beware.